Fred and his Specialty: Tartiflette! By Becks & Posh

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Beck’s Home


Now That's a Lot of Cheese for Two People!

Once a year or so, Fred makes his beloved .Tartiflette (not Fred’s Recipe). He uses a whole Reblochon cheese from the Savoie region of France which melts into the mixture of potatoes, onions and bacon. It's a stinky, rich, delicious, comforting and extremely filling dish. Evenso, it's almost impossible to say no to a second helping.

PS. This is a photo from the archives so it has nothing to do with Eat Local month. It's probably better to save this kind of dish for the Winter. Oh, I forgot, it is Winter in San Francisco. There you go.

Home Made English Muffins - Oh YES!

By Becks & Posh

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Beck’s Home


You won't believe how easy this is!

For this post I am indebted to Barbara of Winos and Foodies who, a while back, wrote a post about how simple it is to make English Muffins. It's true - it's amazing! Check out her recipe here .

The good thing about non-live media is that you can edit out the bits you don't want anyone to see. Hence, when I wrote my Rachael Ray Post, I missed out the part where I was ill. I didn't mention that when I arrived at Liberty Cafe I had a splitting headache. I didn't share my idiotic response to the pain - which was to take a couple of my friend's Nurofen Plus containing Codeine, on an empty stomach. I kept quiet when my food arrived, because I had started shaking, my taste buds weren't working and I started to feel nauseous. Despite having my 'big' camera with me, I didn't even have the strength to take a photo, and I had to recycle a picture from a previous visit instead. Anyone reading yesterday's post had no idea, that I barely even looked at the food before having to leave the restaurant, where I promptly threw up over the side walk (as subtly as I could, of course). I had been so looking forward to that Eggs Florentine all week, but in the end I didn't even have the chance to eat it, let alone enjoy it. Instead I dashed home to spend all afternoon in bed recovering instead.

I was so miffed at missing out on my eggy muffin treat, I determined to make some at home on Sunday. It was then I remembered, in the back of my mind I had filed away a memory - a piece of information that recalled Barbara's English Muffin recipe where the mixture had to be made the night before. So that is how, sometime after midnight (and after a cocktail or two), I started making dough. Fred looked at me as if I was crazy. Well, yes, maybe I was. But, remember, this isn't bread, it's a muffin and the procedure is far more forgiving. I popped everything in the Kitchenaid and let it do all the hard work. Once the dough was blended, I covered it with a damp tea towel and retired for a good night’s sleep.

The next morning, I excitedly rushed to the kitchen to check out the dough. It was rising nicely, but it was way too runny. It seemed that I'd taught myself a little lesson: Measuring ingredients after an evening at Olive is probably not the wisest idea. I was certain I could salvage it. I just added some more flour until my dough looked like it was the same sticky consistency as Barbara's.

It is quite amazing to think you can cook bread in a skillet over dry heat. It's remarkable. It really did work. My muffins didn't look particularly amazing, but they tasted exactly how a muffin should taste. Crispy on the outside and fluffy on the inside. Ummm - they were so good with butter and marmite. The were even better with a soft poached Marin Sun Farms egg, a handful of sorrel leaves and a crack of fresh black pepper. I skipped the hollandaise. After all, some things are just a bit too much effort for what should really be a lazy Sunday morning.

It's All in The Details - Rob Williams

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Rob’s Home




So I'm flipping through the latest DETAILS magazine--the one with hunky Matthew Fox (of TVs "Lost") on the cover...

And I see on the cover that it says ‘Fall Preview’--and especially, ‘What To Read’.

So, naturally I'm curious about what to read.

Well, I take my sweet time, perusing the magazine from start to finish. Checking out the latest trends in fashion, smelling the gazillion cologne samples (urggh. I loathe cologne--except for 'Bowling Green' by Geoffrey Beene--yes, the Geoffrey Beene of 'Grey Flannel' which makes me shudder with horror when I remember the smell. but 'Bowling Green' was a lot better-- it was very lemony and light, though it wasn't selling well I guess because it soon disappeared. Hmm, maybe I can find it on Ebay... anyway, I digress).

So I flip to the 'Fall Books Package' section and lo and behold, on pg. 294, not three pages past a dazzling black and white photo spread of Varvatos, Armani, and Versace's new clothes, there is my dear friend, fellow writer, fellow Columbia MFA-er, Aaron Hamburgersplashed on the page with four other up and comers musing about their favorite writers! (It must be noted that one of the other writers, Ben Kunkel, was also a fellow MFA-er with Aaron and myself, in fact, Ben and I started the same year).



Wow! How cool is that? (Sorry for such a bad scan--but check out the mag for yourself).

Aaron is truly a remarkable person, and I know that many of you who read my blog already know that.

Aaron was the first person I met when I came to NYC.  He had been assigned as my 'email mentor' before I came to Columbia, so I was actually in touch with him even before I moved here. I remember about a month before I left AZ for NYC and grad school, I emailed Aaron asking, "How can I get more money from the school?" (I was completely broke and Columbia gave me barely anything).  His response: "There Ain’t None."

When I moved here, Aaron and I met for the first time in the park off of Christopher Street (next to the statues), and then we went for Japanese Food. We went dutch, and I remember I was so poor that I put it on my credit card, just so that aaron would give me his cash (I had NO cash). Another time, Aaron invited me to a party somewhere in the W. Village (Aaron was always inviting me to parties, book parties, readings, museums-- he really introduced me to this city--I’ll always be grateful for that, among many other things). But I was supposed to meet Aaron at this party and I did not know the Village at all, especially all of the winding, twisting streets and so I got lost-- unfortunately I was wearing a pair of Diesel Boots (hey, it was my first week in NYC, I was trying to be cool) that gave me blisters because I circled the block there over and over for about an hour and a half.  Another time, this was about a week before school started and I was almost at the end of my rope, financially. I was eating rice with ketchup for dinner and saltines for lunch.  Aaron invited me to a party and I only had $1.50 on me. so I walked to the party-- in Chelsea-- from 113th Street. About 90 blocks or so. this time iIdidn't wear the Diesel boots. iIspent the $1.50 taking the subway home and had a very nice time meeting Aaron's friends.

Aaron, not only a great writer, is one of the most generous people I have ever known. He is always recommending me for something--an anthology, a magazine, a job, a reading. He's also read just about all of my work (as I have of his), and always treats me and my writing with respect and graciousness.

I’ve learned so much from him these past (nearly) 6 years. Especially about writing. about the importance of revision and editing. About HOW to revise and edit. about being a critic--of others' and your own work. About sometimes scrapping whole chapters and ideas when they aren't working.

I’ve learned to be a better teacher through his guidance. (He helped me to put my portfolio together when I was applying for teaching at Columbia). I learned how to write a cover letter! I learned what NOT to say in a cover letter.

And I haven't even begun to talk about his writing: smart, historical, funny, cynical, edgy, sexy, provocative, important.

His story collection, "The View From Stalin's Head" <(most of which I had the pleasure of first reading in workshops) was an inspiration to me--because I saw it go through revisions and workshops, and Aaron even asked for my feedback--which he incorporated into the work, and I got to see it become what it is today-- a remarkable first book filled with intriguing, real, flawed people and their predicaments abroad. I am so glad to have been a witness to Aaron's accomplishments.

And what accomplishments! His second book "Faith For Beginners" is coming out in October and already getting raves, he is heading to Rome in September for a year as the recipient of the Rome Prize Fellowship. He has a great blog, an adorably cool boyfriend, he publishes regularly (anthologies, magazines, newspapers, journals), he gives readings. Pheww! How does he do it all (he writes constantly, too).

All of this and yet he's still so generous and spirited and funny and warm.

Next to Ted, he's the most amazing and important person I met here in NYC.

Aaron, I’m going to miss you when I move, but I know we'll be seeing each other again-- on bookshelves, on book tours (and maybe magazines-- just wait for my spread in "Interview"!!...someday). Thank you, Aaron, for everything.

<--Me and Aaron, Halloween circa 1999. I was a Mouseketeer and Aaron was, well... what was he? A hippy? Joan Baez?

Kirk's Music Review - Bright Eyes

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Kirk’s Home


By Kirk Bage

My first few days back in the multi-corporational arms of iTunes led me to Bright Eyes, whose double album release at New Year was not available on Napster. Of the two, I left the reportedly more raucous Digital Ashes In a Digital Urn for later and went straight to the acclaimed and somewhat mellower I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning - which included the single First Day Of My Life, a huge hit in the States. For the uninitiated, Bright Eyes is more or less twenty-something Connor Oberst and his acoustic guitar. An acquired taste at first, his deliberate use of less than polished acoustics, childishly simplistic melodies and knowingly pretentious spoken sections can jar. But anyone who listened to his 2002 release Lifted... Or, The Story Is In The Soil should know that to stick with him for a bit is to experience something of rare spirit and grace, ultimately tinted with optimism and a soul beyond his years. And this album lives up to that promise brilliantly. Perhaps not as many moments of angst as the aforementioned work, it nevertheless has all the elements of a late night conversation with a drunken folk singer present and correct: disillusionment, loss, redemption and a whole lot of heart, to say the least. Closer, perhaps, to Nick Drake than Bob Dylan, his beguiling rhymes and distracted reason appeal on many levels and leave you wanting to take another listen, just to be sure you understood what he might be getting at. I'm not saying he's my favourite artist - even of his genre - but he is compelling and unique; with the ability, at his best, to cut you to the bone with honesty and beauty. And there aren't enough of those people in the world. This will be my main listen for a week, probably, and then I'll be ready for the flip side. Click on title for website with some great live photos and full lyrics listings. Good stuff. 8/10

Audio et Video Fun By: Sashi

Photo from http://www.theage.com.au/ffximage/2005/01/28/beastie_boys_narrowweb__200x298.jpg



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Sashi’s Home


By Sashi

AUDIO FUN:
The Beastie Boys (for the young ‘uns among y’all, these are white guys who used to rap long before Eminem came on the scene) have released some of their tracks - in a capella format - for free download on their website. They’re doing this to encourage people to remix the tracks and share it with others. So go on and ch-ch-check it out, yeah? There’s a new track added every Friday too!

VIDEO FUN:
via Boing Boing:
Have ya always wondered about the voiceovers behind all those movie trailers? Well, now’s your chance to put faces to the voices! Check out this hilarious video promo for The Hollywood Reporter’s Key Art Awards - “it’s a heart-warming affirmation of the American Can-Do spirit, inside us all….”

She's Got Legs... By Mikw

By: Mike

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Mike’s Home


I just moved the large shelving unit in my room.
The one that i originally dragged in from the parking lot up the street and hasn't been moved in two years.
Oh the wonderful things I found beneath it.
That navy-blue shirt I really like, the one with the collar.
A bunch of Subway stamps.
My Action Week '96 button.
One of those foamy earplugs.
The cassette single of "Let Your Backbone Slide."
An ancient condom. (used)
Dozens of staples.
And a nest of Gigantic Spiders.
Not those little 'make a web in the corner and keep to myself' kind of spiders. These were 'hulking, prehistoric, talon-legged, running and jumping and tearing your flesh to ribbons' type spiders.
Two of these beastly fuckers could take down a well trained adult greyhound, I'm sure of it.
What amuses me the most is the fact that until I moved the shelving unit, we were apparently living in harmony.
Or maybe not.
Maybe they've been filling my various bodily cavities with their eggs while i sleep.
Maybe they've been feasting on my feet and legs for sustenance, (that would explain those mysterious bites.)
Maybe they've been feasting on that fossilized condom, (that would explain their incredible, almost pterodactyl-like strength and agility, not to mention their tasteful facial hair.)
Anyway, the important thing is I found that Maestro Fresh Wes tape.
I wanna rock right now.
(And yes, the title of this post is a ZZ Top reference.)

Wrecking Crew

By David Dedrick



In Wrecking Crew, drug abuse, filth, rock star excess, sexual deviance and other depravity meet. . .baseball? Yes, baseball. The all-American pastime of baseball wedded to the grungy lives of marginal no-hopers and also-rans in the sun-bleached boneyard of LA. Sounds like a great plot for a novel, doesn’t it? Only, the characters and incidents in this book are real and John Albert doesn’t try to make them out to be anything more or less than what they are. The book is not purely a memoir either; it’s not just Albert’s story told from his point of view. There are interviews with all the major characters and they get to explain, justify, and comment on the events in the story. In fact, Albert won the Best of the West Journalism Best Sports Writing Award in 2000 for an article from which this book is derived.

The book opens with Albert’s story: his junkie past, his gone, but not forgotten glory days as a drummer in a couple of LA punk bands and his not-so-bright future as a bottom-feeding screenwriter. He then proceeds to describe the histories of all his teammates, trying to make clear their motives and hopes as they find themselves almost compelled to join an adult baseball league. There’s Mike Coulter, the dynamo behind the team; a rock guitarist, whose band Lifter has reached the end of its rope; he’s strung out, trying to kick heroin and he sees baseball as a way to escape the deep, dangerous rut he’s in. There’s Johnny Navarro, a close cousin of Dave Navarro (guitarist in Jane’s Addiction), who has the misfortune of living near fame and fortune; he also has an extremely addictive personality - mostly for drugs, gambling and completely-wrong-for-him women. There’s Clay Jefferson, one-time bassist with the hair-metal band Junkyard, whose promising career of riches, fame and free drugs was washed away in the Shibboleth that was Nirvana; now he’s just another has-been, ex-junkie, scraping by in LA.

There’s plenty more characters – all of them compelling for their own, often sad, reasons. Most of them don’t fit into the hard-working, blue-collar milieu of the league. They live in the rarefied atmosphere of LA, where “anything short of completely realizing one’s dreams was somehow viewed as complete and utter failure”. They’re all has-beens or never-beens. They’re not even the horses the royalty rides up the mountain; they’re the mules, packing all the shit. For the most part, they work crummy jobs on the periphery of the music or movie business – chauffeurs, gardeners, scenic artists (i.e., people who carry props). They no longer care about what they do; they don’t even remember what they did it for. Here’s Mike, the songwriter, and his moment of discovery of what’s really important: “I realized that the only thing separating me from that whole world was money and nothing else…As long as you were able to pay, it didn’t matter who you were. Before that, I thought there was more to it.” It’s true, in a way, but for someone striving to be an artist, it’s a deadly way to see the world. When it’s no longer about your art, it’s just inertia dragging you those last few feet forward before you come to a complete stop.

Baseball becomes their escape. It’s retrogression, of course, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Albert describes one of the teams they play against as “(b)arely in their twenties, many of them already sported moustaches and had children. Most of us were decades older and still living like teenagers”. And while it’s true that they may have lived like teenagers, it’s equally true that they were no longer teenagers. Could they have felt at all the innocent forward energy of youth? All the drugs and the mess they’d made of their lives must have started to pall. Baseball was a trip back in time to their youth; before drugs and rehab and squalor swallowed up their lives. The question the book asks is: can baseball save you? In some cases, yes, while others fall by the wayside as they go off the rails and get lost in labyrinth-like morass that is LA. Fortunately, the baseball team is a beacon; a light in the window for these lost travellers to which, hopefully, one day, they can return.

Though the book deals solely with the events leading up to the team’s creation and its first year in the league, the final chapter details what became of the team members. The good thing to know is the Griffith Park Pirates are still going strong.

Like the narcotics that fill the lives of its characters, this is one highly addictive read. John Albert has a spare, matter-of-fact style that draws us into his story and no matter how disturbing it might get – and, believe me, it gets mighty disturbing – we don’t feel we have to avert our eyes. Albert is so sympathetic to his characters that we feel their pain and understand the horror they bring into their lives.

I can’t honestly say that I read this book in one sitting – it was more like in one lolling, as I was lying on the couch when I read it. I can, however, state that it was unputdownable. Of course, I could have said that it was a real page-turner, but that doesn’t quite roll off the tongue like “unputdownable”.

The Upside of Anger

Submitted by Lezah



The Upside of Anger

“Anger and resentment can stop you in your tracks. That’s what I know now. It needs nothing to burn but the air and the life that it swallows and smothers. It’s real, though – the fury, even when it isn’t. It can change you…turn you…mould you and shape you into something you’re not. The only upside to anger, then…is the person you become.”

So begins the film ‘The Upside of Anger’, starring Joan Allen and Kevin Costner. We rented it the other night, and for some odd reason I was under the impression that it came out a few years ago, but in fact it was one of this year’s spring releases. Written and directed by Mike Binder (who also appears in the film as the character Shep), this film falls under the ‘classic melodrama’ umbrella – but with a new millennium feel to it.

‘The Upside of Anger’ tells the tale of a woman who, along with her four daughters, is abandoned suddenly by her husband. She’s angry and bitter, and turns to alcohol to cope. A neighbour shows up both unannounced and unaware of what has transpired; it doesn’t take long before he joins the wife in her alcoholic excesses. This all sounds rather sordid, but the family’s upper middle class veneer remains, aided largely by the wife’s trust fund. So, other than an absent dad and an angry mom, not a lot really changes for the family – or maybe it does.

The mother is volatile, and the family situation is toxic, but yet there is a surprising stability to the new family unit. Life goes on, and changes happen - some good, some bad. The ending of the film is actually the beginning, but in spite of that, what happens is still a surprise.

Veteran character actress Joan Allen does a superb job in the role, as does Kevin Costner.

I recommend this movie – it’s not for everyone, but if you’re looking for a good man-hating type chick flick, then this is the film for you.

Oscar

Submitted by Lezah


s
I was in the presence of greatness the other night, and it wasn’t just any old ordinary run of the mill greatness – oh no. This was publicly acknowledged greatness that I’m talking about – a rare thing believe you me…

You see, we have made these new acquaintances (could I be so bold as to call them friends? I’m not quite sure yet…). Anyway, I knew that this couple was successful in both the artistic and financial sense of the word, but somehow I had blocked some of that out because they seemed so – I don’t know - normal. Just like you and me.

But I was shocked out of that feeling of normalcy when, at one point in the evening, we went into the home office to hear a song on the his computer. While in there, I was idly glancing around and noticed a few trophies on the mantel. One of the other guests saw the direction of my gaze, leaned over and whispered to me, “It’s real!”

It still didn’t sink in – at least, not immediately. It’s real? I was obviously missing something there. I turned that over in my mind a couple of times; trying to figure it out, when all of a sudden I recognized the statuette’s silhouette. It was an Academy Award. Yes, you heard me: an Academy Award. I was looking at an Oscar.

I can’t imagine what it would feel like to win one. The other awards they had were all noteworthy as well, but the Oscar… Just seeing one in real life was heart stopping.

Shot in the Dark

Submitted by Lezah
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Shot in the Dark is an independent movie series that is held at Colossus Theatre in Langley (at the junction of 200th and the 401 Freeway). For $45, you can attend six of the eight shows offered, or pay $9 at the door. Tickets are available at Colossus, or at Wendel’s Books in Fort Langley. All shows run at 7:30.

Here is a list of shows for the fall season:
Sept. 7 Ladies in Lavender
Sept. 21 My Summer of Love
Oct. 5 Lost Embrace
Oct. 19 Scared Sacred (documentary)
Nov. 2 Sabah
Nov. 16 2046
Nov. 30 Water
Dec. 7 Where the Truth Lies

For more information, go to http://www.shotinthedark.ca/

Latin American Film Fest

Submitted by Lezah

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The third annual Latin American Film Festival is on soon at the Pacific Cinematheque.
It will be running in the evenings from Sept. 4-7. For more information, go to www.vlaff.org.

Marina's Gelato

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Submitted by Lezah

Marina’s Home


Have you ever noticed how sometimes you can go to a rather out of the way little town, and find the most unexpected gem of a store? That’s happened to me a number of times this year already – down in Mt. Vernon, Washington, we found an absolutely fantastic pizzeria (I’m sorry, I can’t remember the name of the place – I will look it up and write about it next time I’m through that way), and while up in Williams Lake, BC, I found both a fabulous clothing store and, right across the road, a wonderful little chocolate shop (same comment applies).

So, when I was going through Fort Langley a few weeks ago and found this funky little gelato shop, I decided it was time to pay a bit more attention. Marina’s Gelato is located on Glover Road, right in the heart of Fort Langley (near the intersection of Glover and Mary Street). It has an ever-changing group of wildly imaginative flavours – over 40 different varieties of gelato and sorbetto are offered at any different time, and the selection is updated frequently. They even offer diabetic-friendly selections! As impressive as the choice in flavours is the presentation – these tasty treats look too good to eat. But eat I did – and they taste fantastic.

It turns out that there is another store, the original, over in Maple Ridge, BC. There all the flavours are hand-made on the premises and one can even watch the production process in the lab through a large glass window located in the shop.

But this is not just a gelato store – oh no! They also import top quality Italian coffees, and offer cakes and pastries, paninis and soups. The Maple Ridge location (on 224th Street, near the Maple Ridge Rec. Centre) also hosts live music once a month.

So, if you’re having a hard time making it through these dog days of summer, maybe a trip to Marina’s Gelato is the pick-me-up you need. For more information, go to www.marinasgelato.com

Sprawl Kills By: Lezah

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s
Here’s a website I stumbling across while looking up the band The Kills: it’s www.sprawlkills.com, homepage of the book by the same name. Authored by Joel S. Hirschhorn, Ph.D., the book ‘Sprawl Kills: How Blandburbs Steal Your Time, Health, and Money’, promises to be an interesting read. And it’s a subject close to my own heart.

I think I’ve always been a bit of a small ‘e’ environmentalist especially in the area of land use. I live on the outskirts of Vancouver, which, if you’ve never been here before, sits on the edge of the ocean, flanked by mountains, in between which sits the fertile Fraser Valley. Rich farmland with one of the best and most moderate climates in Canada is being eaten up at an alarming rate in this area. And this is not a renewable resource. Statistically, although Canada is the 2nd largest country in the world, only about 5% of it is arable land. The rest is, for the most part, rock.

Consequently, it makes sense for what farmland we have to be preserved, and yet housing developments, parking lots, strip malls and the like continue to be built, and built, and built. And it’s not like much of this stuff is needed. As I drive from home to the gym, or to work, or wherever, for that matter, I pass building after building that sits empty, just waiting for some sucker to come and try and start a store there. Some of these empty strip malls have sat as such for upwards of twenty years now – and have never been occupied. And yet they continue to build more. I don’t understand it, quite frankly.

But Hirschhorn does. If you are interested in learning “the truth about urban sprawl, land use, suburbia, automobile addiction, active living, the sprawl lobby” and the like, then have a look at this site – or better yet, buy the book, which is available on Amazon.ca.

The world needs to wake up to this problem, and do so now, before it’s too late. If you’ll excuse me, I feel compelled to quote Joni Mitchell from her song, Big Yellow Taxi:

They paved paradise and put up a parking lot
With a big hotel, boutique and a swinging hot spot
Don’t it always seem as though
You don’t know what you got ‘til it’s gone
They paved paradise and put up a parking lot.

The Ubersexual By Lezah

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That whole metrosexual thing is so-o-o last year. Really. Turns out the latest, greatest thing is the ubersexual.

An ubersexual is defined as the “most attractive (not just physically), most dynamic and most compelling men of their generations. They are supremely confident (without being obnoxious), masculine, stylish and committed to uncompromising quality in all areas of life”, according to New York trendspotters Marian Salzman, Ira Matathia, and Amy O’Reilly in their new book ‘The Future of Men’ (to be published in September by Palgrave).

They go on: “Compared with the metrosexual, the ubersexual is more into relationships than self. He’s not sensual and not at all self-conscious. He dresses for himself more than others (choosing a consistent personal style over fashion fads). Like the metrosexual, the ubersexual enjoys shopping, but his approach is more focused; he shops for particular items that enhance his collection rather than shopping as entertainment (he has better things to do than hang out at the mall). His best friends are male; he doesn’t consider the women in his life ‘buddies’”.

Well, that all sounds very good: attractive, dynamic, confident, compelling, masculine, stylish, committed to quality, into relationships – what could be wrong with that? Sounds perfect, if you ask me. But then I looked at the examples that were given: George Clooney (okay, I guess I can live with that) and – wait a minute, here – Donald TRUMP??!!?? What the @#%&?!!!???

Good God, Donald Trump is the last person who springs to mind when I think of the word ‘attractive’ (what IS IT with that hair of his, anyway???); or being into relationships – emphasis on the plural there, I guess…

If that’s the way it is, ladies, you can keep your ubersexuals…

Swan Lake by Lezah

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I think I’ve always been a bit of a ballet junkie. I can remember being five or so, seeing some ballet on TV, and then almost immediately begging, begging, begging my Mom for ballet lessons. Now, my Mom was one of those people who felt that, if one started something, one must finish it. It was made clear that if, indeed, I was to get these ballet lessons, then I had to be prepared to stick it out. I couldn’t just quit if I decided I didn’t like it, or if things got tough – I had to promise that I would stay in the lessons for the long haul. I promised.

Well, my Mom got a list of things we needed, I got dressed up and off we went. Now, I had the tights and the slippers, but no tutu. I was confident though that the tutus would be handed out as soon as we arrived at class. Then the teacher arrived and started barking out orders, but all I could think was, “What? NO TUTUS!?!” You see, it turns out that you did NOT get a tutu for signing up for ballet class. I immediately wanted to quit - emphasis on the ‘immediately’ - but my Mom wouldn’t let me. Fortunately for me, we ended up moving away about six months later – saved!

It turns out my interest was more in the realm of ballet experience rather than in the ballet participation. But it wasn’t until much, much later that I chanced to see my first live professional ballet. And what a ballet it was: Sadler’s Wells Ballet Company of London came to town to do Swan Lake, and my high school teacher took the class to see it. I was in heaven.

Since then, I have seen a number of different companies dance Swan Lake, and have also seen many, many other ballets. I’m an addict; I’ll admit it.

So you can imagine how excited I was when I heard the latest: Swan Lake is currently on tour. This is James Kudelka’s version, originally premiered in 1999, which is based on the original (first premiered in St. Petersburg in 1877). Kudelka is the first Canadian to choreograph Swan Lake.

The National Ballet will be dancing this latest version of the classic Swan Lake at The Centre for the Performing Arts in Vancouver from September 28 to October 1; tickets go on sale August 20.

Too Many Secrets Can’t be Good for Anyone

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Sashi’s Home


By Sashi



I first came across PostSecretvia this blog, and to be honest, it freaked me out.

I didn’t want to go back - but every so often, someone links to it again on their blog and curiosity will get the better of me and I return to the site.

It still disturbs me - and I’m now addicted to it.

Because I too have hundreds of postcards with secrets scrawled on them - except that they’re all stored in my head.

And I now know you do too.

Everything Electric and Hideous

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Mike’s Home


By Mike



I've always been of the mind that the beginning of the New Year should be celebrated on September 1st. Nothing really happens in January, no real transition, and even if something did happen it would just be clumped into that pseudo-enjoyable winter stretch we call the ‘Holidays’.
Things shift in September.
Always.
School starts anew.
Old leases expire. people move.
The scenery changes and the tourists evaporate along with all their bad noises.
Even the smell and feel and weight of the air changes.
September is breathing down my neck.
I'll be in a new apartment in a matter of days.
A new elevator.
A different view from a new balcony.
New/different neighbors.
New routes to all the places i usually go unless I decide to be totally different and start going to all new and different places.
I'm even planning on getting a new job.
And a new bed.
And just to be different I’ll call my new bed the Fuck-o-Tron 9000.
My chest cavity is throbbing with all the dust and gristle and noise of another screwball summer. All those Big Plans that started gestating in June/July have been digested and shat and have returned to the Earth and I had absolutely no idea until just this second.
This is what we call the Late August Crunch.
The sweaty optimistic desperation we so badly need.
Until September staggers in and dutifully kicks all the pieces off the board, leaving us with a fistful of dice and enough crazy scams to hopefully carry us through to that first frost.
Lick it up.
Lick it up.
More more more.
(It's only right now.)

Ben Folds by Kirk Bage

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By Kirk Bage




As of 1st September my affair with Napster will be temporarily over. We've had some good times, but I have to move on... Mostly because my current PC is a piece of shit and I need the money to upgrade it so it actually works when I want it to. Besides, I have been stuck listening to the same old albums for months, and only a long train journey on Friday snapped me out of it and into Ben Folds' 2005 offering. I've liked this guy for years, whether with the Five or on his own (more or less the same thing, anyway) - but I've always felt a slight frustration that he never quite seems to peak and get all his ideas into a fulfilling whole on his albums. Four or five good hummable tunes are going to be there every time, he is a talented writer, but ten or eleven seems too far for him. Songs for Silverman, then, is no exception - the emotion is there, the piano rings out, the lyrics are as tragic and touching as ever, but after a couple of listens you have your favourites and the rest are discarded. A shame for him, because he can't be described exactly as a singles artist, either. Some time soon he will release a Best Of compilation and everyone will buy it, saying, oh my God, I never knew he had so many great tunes, but that doesn't help Songs for Silverman. There is a growing maturity present; a less frivolous air, whilst his trademark humour remains intact - his songs, as always, are little stories in themselves, mini journeys into lives and loves and mishaps and failings, and I love that. If intelligent melancholy melody were the currency of the world Ben Folds would be a rich man. There's a time and a place where your mood can only be satisfied by him alone - and that's the best endorsement I think I can give him. Ben Folds: 9/10 Songs for Silverman: 7/10

Movie Review : Garden State By Kirk Bage

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There was nothing but good word of mouth for this quirky debut, both as writer and director for Scrubs star Zach Braff, upon it's cinema release. To get such a film made at all is an achievement, but to make it this good is a minor miracle. It is well observed and both witty and touching in equal measure, if sometimes a little saccharine on both ends; it is well cast - Braff also takes the lead and turns in an affable performance, Natalie Portman is just perfect as Sam, the compulsive liar with epilepsy and a bad record with pets, and Peter Sarsgaard (very under-rated) and Ian Holm provide ever interesting support; it has a soundtrack to compete with a Wes Anderson movie; and there's something about the whole that just works for me. On an originality level it may not win any prizes - it is as though Braff has taken all the things he loves about movies and made it into his own montage, but what is wrong with that when the result is so entertaining? For its many flaws you have to say that he is going to be a filmmaker worth keeping an eye on. It's also nice to get back to this kind of thing after a Summer of blockbusters, superheroes and aliens. It's a film that takes you on a strange journey, like After Hours or Brazil and is never the same twice because neither are you - I wouldn't call it deep, exactly, but I still can't wait to see it again. 8.5/10

Movie Review: The Woodsman By Kirk Bage

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Second in an ill-fitting double bill last night was Kevin Bacon in The Woodsman - equally brilliant as Garden State, but for Very different reasons. I talked about looking out for this one months ago when it was announced that he was going to do it, but it can't even have lasted a week at the box office and was very easy to miss. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to work out, then, that this sunk without a trace not because it is bad, but because of the subject matter - one of Hollywood's last taboos, child abuse. Based on the play of the same name and brought to the screen by rookie director Nicole Kassell as something of a passion project, long time husband and wife Kevin Bacon and Kyra Sedgewick adopt serious, understated and consistently convincing personas as the former abuser trying to put his life back together amidst prejudice, hatred and fear and the woman who is prepared to give him a chance. We are asked as an audience not to forgive or justify, but simply to understand and the compelling script allows us to do that, as does a central performance that is certain to gain momentum in after-the-event criticism once initial discomfort subsides. At times theatrical, using devices such as a new abuser that Bacon watches and ultimately confronts (when we finally see the centre of his frustration as he visualizes beating himself up) and a cop of ambiguous morality (played with some panache by Mos Def, who although good, seemed to be playing in the wrong movie) which do detract from the realism Bacon and Sedgewick achieve so effortlessly in earlier scenes, nevertheless, this is powerful stuff worthy of intelligent debate and a success by its own standards. Also interesting to note how lesser performances fared much better at the years' numerous awards festivals - Bacon's bravery in confronting such a role should have been commended and acknowledged much more than the sole nod for best male lead from the Independent Spirit Awards. Sadly, this proves to me that it is still an industry much more full of "stars" with images to maintain and politics to protect than genuine artists with things to say. Despite all that, I highly recommend this film and hope that Bacon's career is full of these kind of choices. 8/10